Knitted Hearts: A Small Town Romance (Poplar Falls Book 6)

by Amber Kelly

  I keep the door open but secure the doggy gate.

  When I return, Sonia is in the kitchen, unbagging the supplies she brought.

  “Are they in jail for the night?” she asks.

  “If they are, they’re content in their sentence because they are cuddled up, munching on some turkey tendons and loving life.”

  She smiles.

  “Actually, I just wanted to make sure they didn’t come bounding out as soon as they smelled food in the oven,” I tell her.

  “Good plan.”

  She fishes a frying pan from the drawer under the stove and sets it on one of the eyes. Then, she turns and gives me a challenging look.

  “Are you ready to learn how to make chicken marsala?” she asks as she picks up and waves two bottles of wine in the air.

  “I’m at your service. Just tell me where you want me.”

  “Do you have a meat tenderizer?” she asks.

  “Is that the metal thing that looks like a hammer and you beat steaks with it?”

  “It is.”

  I walk over to the drawer that is between the stove and refrigerator. I slide it open and produce the utensil.

  “Perfect,” she says as she takes it from my hand. “First things first. Open the bottle of cabernet, please.”

  I get the cork out of the bottle and look to her for the next step.

  “Pour a glass.”

  “What?”

  “That wine is for drinking while we cook,” she says.

  I pour her a very generous glass of wine and hand it to her before I grab myself a beer and pop the top.

  She takes a sip and sets it down before approaching me. She takes a gray apron and pulls it over my head, and then she threads her arms around me to tie it at my back.

  “Follow me,” she beckons.

  I do as she asked, and we walk over to the island. She has four chicken breasts sitting on the butcher block. She covers them with plastic wrap and begins to gently pound one with the mallet until it’s about a fourth of an inch thick. Then, she hands the mallet to me.

  “Do that to the other three,” she directs.

  I continue to follow her instructions as she pours olive oil into the pan and turns on the burner.

  “Okay, what’s next?”

  “Remove the wrap and salt and pepper both sides. With the pink salt and the pepper I set over there.” She points to the fresh peppercorn mill.

  She adds a little flour to a shallow dish, and after I finish with the chicken, she uses tongs to dredge both sides of each breast, shaking off any excess, and places them on a plate.

  She passes it to me with the tongs. “The oil should be hot now. Cook them until they are golden brown. About ten minutes on each side.”

  Once the chicken is done, I put them on a plate covered with a paper towel to absorb any extra oil.

  Sonia adds the mushrooms she sliced to the pan the chicken was in and hands me a spatula. “Keep turning them until they are soft. You can add a tad more oil if you need it.”

  She sets a pot with peeled and chopped potatoes to boil on the burner next to me. Then, she adds chopped onions and minced garlic to the mushrooms.

  “Keep stirring. You’re doing a great job,” she says before finishing her glass of wine and pouring herself another.

  Then, she opens the marsala wine and starts pouring it into the pan. “I eyeball this part. You just want it to cover the top of the mushrooms and onions and then let it reduce down a bit.”

  Then, she adds the chicken stock. “Scrape the bottom of the pan with the spatula. Make sure you get all the good, crispy chicken bits off the bottom,” she says as she leans into my back and peeks around to watch me.

  Her body against mine is distracting, and my mind blanks for a moment.

  She pulls back and coaches me, telling me to let it reduce a little more before adding a teaspoon of butter and the chicken back into the pan with the sauce. Once it thickens, I’m supposed to taste the sauce and add salt and pepper.

  She drains and mashes the potatoes, adding a pinch of salt, butter, and a dollop of sour cream.

  By the time they are ready, she has finished her second glass of wine.

  She adds a helping of the potatoes to a plate and then spoons the chicken and sauce over them.

  I grab another bottle of beer and top her glass off as she hoists herself up onto the island and takes a bite.

  “Mmm,” she moans.

  My mouth starts to water.

  I set the beverages on the counter and remove the apron. I stalk over to her, and I step between her legs. She grins as she loads her fork again and turns it to me.

  I take the offered bite.

  “Damn, that’s good,” I say. And it is. It’s restaurant quality.

  She smiles a triumphant smile and takes another bite herself.

  I lean in and lick a drop of sauce from the corner of her mouth.

  “Do that again,” she dares.

  I dip my finger into the potatoes on her plate and smear a line down her cheekbone. Then, I trace it with my tongue all the way to her ear.

  She sets the plate aside, and her hand fists into my tee. She pulls me forward, and her mouth is on mine. She tastes of wine and smells of honey. Suddenly, all thoughts of food fly from my brain, and the only thing I want to taste is her.

  I bring my hands to the sides of her hips. She’s wearing a pair of black leggings and a long-sleeved Colorado Rockies tee. I grip the hem of her shirt and pull it up. She raises her arms to help me, and I toss it to the floor. She’s sitting before me in a pink lace bra. I take one strap between my fingers and slide it off her shoulder. The strap drops to her elbow, exposing one flawless breast. I glide my hand up her rib cage and cup the curve while running the rough pad of my thumb over her nipple.

  A tremor runs through her, and the bud tightens into a taut pink pebble. I release her and reach behind her back to flick the fasteners holding the undergarment in place, and it falls from her and between us.

  I take a step back and look at her.

  Fuck, she’s perfect.

  My eyes meet hers, and I can see the need burning there.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask.

  She shakes her head.

  “I am,” I say as I lower my head and suck one of her nipples into my mouth.

  Her hands come to the back of my head, and she holds me to her. I pull back and switch to the other breast. Her hips begin to rise off the island as I rake my teeth across it.

  Her hands fall from my head to my sides, and she yanks at my tee.

  “It’s not fair that I’m sitting here, topless, and you still have all your clothes on,” she whispers.

  I disengage and step back, letting her remove my shirt. She scrapes her nails down the front of my chest.

  “Where did you come from?” she asks the strange question as she tugs at the scattering of dark hair above my abs. “It’s like you’re one of those marble statues,” she continues.

  “One part of me is as hard as stone,” I growl, and her hand ventures lower until it cups my groin.

  My cock jerks at the contact, and she squeezes in response.

  “Fuuuck.”

  Her eyes shoot up to mine, and she fists my erection through my jeans again.

  “Does that feel good?” she asks.

  “Honestly, it’s a little uncomfortable,” I grunt.

  She releases me and brings her fingers to the button of my jeans, popping it open. Then, she frees me. I reach around, grab her hips, and pull her to the edge of the island. Her hands fly back and plant on the surface. I go to my knees, taking her leggings down with me. I pull them from each foot and let them drop to the floor. Then, I hook one of her ankles, and I kiss my way up the inside of her thigh, bringing her leg up and over my shoulder.

  She is watching me, and she lets her other leg fall to the side, welcoming me.

  I take my two fingers and part her lips, opening her to me, and I drag my tongue through her wetness. He
r hips flex at the contact, and I suck her clit in deep. She moans, and one of her hands finds my hair, holding me to her. I devour her. My tongue finds her opening, and she starts moving against it. I give her what her body wants, and she rides my tongue until she is panting and whimpering my name.

  Then, I bring my mouth back to her bud and slide a finger inside her. I twist and curl, listening to her sounds until I find the spot that makes her cry out. I add another finger, and I nip at her clit until her legs begin to quiver and she clamps her thighs at my ears. I continue to lick as she gets lost in the sensations carrying her away.

  Once her breathing slows and her grip on me eases, I stand. I lift her from the island and start walking to the steps that lead up to my bed.

  Sonia

  Foster lifts me over one shoulder and fireman-carries me up the stairs. He tosses me onto my back on his bed. He quickly kicks his jeans off and climbs over top of me. His big body pins me to the mattress, and he settles between my thighs.

  His mouth finds mine, and he starts to kiss me deep and slow. The taste of me still lingering on his tongue.

  My hand finds him and wraps around his length, and he grows thicker.

  I pull away from his mouth and growl, “I want you inside of me.”

  He continues to kiss and caress my neck. Then, he bears up, reaches into the nightstand, and produces a silver packet. He rips it open with his teeth, and then he rises up onto his knees and slides the condom on slowly.

  “Foster,” I groan his name impatiently as I arch up into him.

  Damn, he’s hot.

  His broad shoulders and chest taper to meet his powerful thighs, and his erection is standing hard and ready. It’s a glorious sight.

  He comes back over me—his hot, slick, bare skin on mine.

  “Ready to come for me again?” he asks.

  “Again,” I yelp.

  With a cocky grin, he lifts my hips and thrusts inside of me. Seating himself deeply.

  “Oh my,” I gasp.

  He pulls out to the tip and then plunges in again, filling me, and it feels so damn good.

  My head flies back into the pillow, and I grip the sheets at my sides.

  He bends his head, so he can kiss my exposed neck, and the contrast of his scruffy jaw against my sensitive skin feels amazing as he pounds into me at a steady pace.

  I can feel the orgasm building in my lower back, and my body coils tight. Ready to spring at any moment.

  His breath starts coming in short, ragged pants as my legs locks tightly around his waist.

  “Damn, you feel amazing,” he grunts as my muscles clamp down on him.

  He grips my hips as he thrusts harder and faster.

  I release the sheets and bring my hands to his ass and hold on. He begins shaking, and a guttural sound comes from his throat as he teeters on the edge.

  I’m so close myself and desperate for release when he slips one hand between us and begins to run circles around me. That does the trick. I start convulsing around him as I scream his name.

  Foster loses the grip on his control, and he strains up and cries out as he explodes inside me. He brings his mouth to my shoulder and nips at my flesh as his climax crashes over him.

  It’s the most intense experience I’ve ever had with a man.

  We lie there, wrapped together—me beneath him—as we catch our breath. After a few minutes, he raises his head and smiles. Then, he stands and walks to the bathroom.

  He returns, sans the condom, kisses my forehead, and says, “I’ll be right back.”

  He descends the stairs, still completely naked, and I come up onto my elbows to watch him go.

  What a beautiful ass.

  I hear him tinkering in the kitchen, and then he returns.

  “Well, the puppies are fast asleep, the kitchen is a mess, and I have cake.” He pulls a massive slice of chocolate cake from behind his back and climbs back into bed beside me.

  He takes a huge bite and then another.

  “Do you plan on sharing some of that?” I ask.

  He holds his hand up. “In a minute. You zapped my energy, woman. I need sustenance,” he says before stuffing another forkful into his mouth.

  I grab for the plate, but he holds it aloft, out of my reach.

  “No fair,” I yell.

  “Calm down, and I’ll feed you.” He gives in.

  I settle into the pillows, and he loads the fork and points it in my direction. I snatch the cake with my teeth.

  “Good, right?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “Dottie made it. It’s the second-best thing I’ve tasted tonight,” he declares.

  I feel the blush spread across my skin at his words.

  Words I like.

  He offers me another bite, and I accept it.

  “I, um, guess we’re staying the night,” I say and look for his reaction.

  “You bet your ass you’re staying the night. I’m not cleaning up that mess by myself in the morning,” he tells me.

  “I can’t believe we wasted that excellent chicken marsala,” I grumble as I pull the sheets up over me and settle into his side.

  “I guess we’ll just have to try it again.” He shrugs.

  “I guess so.”

  I wake to the sound of a door closing. It takes me a second to remember where I am. I look over to where Foster slept, and the bed is empty. I don’t even remember falling asleep last night. The last things I remember are two orgasms and cake.

  The clock on the nightstand says seven o’clock.

  Shit.

  I jump up and run into the bathroom. I splash water on my face and do a quick wipe-down with a warm washcloth. Then, I run downstairs to find my clothes from last night.

  There is a note on the island.

  Sorry I had to leave without saying good-bye. I would have woken you, but you looked so peaceful. I liked the sight of you in my bed.

  I took George and Sue out to potty and fed them both before Sue and I left for the ranch. Stay as long as you’d like. There are clean towels in the closet if you want to shower.

  I hope you girls have a great day. I’ll call you later.

  P.S. You still have to come back and help me clean up later.

  George is standing on her hind legs with her paws on the top of the puppy gate, barking her discontent at being left alone.

  “I’m coming, baby dog. Give me one more minute.”

  I pull my shirt over my head and step into my leggings. I run my fingers through my hair and put on a fresh coat of lip gloss. I have a patient to see in forty-five minutes. So, I find George’s leash on the couch and retrieve her from puppy jail. I twist the lock on the inside of the door and close it, and we rush to my first appointment.

  Foster

  “What has you in such a good mood this morning?” Truett asks as we load hay bales onto the back of my truck.

  “I’m always in a good mood,” I say.

  “Bullshit. You’re as ornery as they come in the morning,” he disagrees.

  I shake my head and pick up another bale.

  “I bet a certain female has something to do with it,” Myer says as he walks into the barn from the back door.

  Truett stops and looks at me. “I believe you’re right. That looks like the morning-after glow.”

  Myer chuckles.

  I slap Truett on the back of the head. “How would you know?”

  “I’ve had it before. A time or two,” he says as he runs his hand across the back of his head.

  “Two. You’ve had it exactly two times,” I tease him.

  “Two and a half,” he corrects me.

  I shake my head.

  Myer stops and turns to him. “Wait, how do you count a half?”

  Truett opens his mouth, an explanation about to spew from his lips, when Myer holds his hand up.

  “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

  “It’s actually a funny story,” Truett tells him.

  “Then, I definitely don
’t want to know.” Myer exits the barn.

  “Suit yourself,” Truett calls after him before he grabs the bale I just hoisted onto the tailgate and pulls it up to stack it with another.

  “It’s been more than two,” he insists.

  “With a girl, not alone,” I say and he throws a handful of hay at me as I laugh.

  “Seriously, I’m glad to see that spring in your step. You haven’t been happy in a long time,” he says.

  I stop and wonder, Am I happy? Is this what happiness feels like?

  Last night was amazing and waking up with Sonia all tangled in my sheets, sleeping peacefully, with a smile on her lips that I put there, it was the best damn morning of my life.

  I guess it’s true. I am happy.

  After a day of riding around with Truett, making sure all the feeders are full and all the cattle are accounted for, I drop him at home and join Myer and Dallas for dinner.

  Walker is there when I arrive.

  “Hey, man. You freeloading too?” I ask as we fist-bump.

  “Yep. My wife went to San Diego with Sophie since Charlotte was busy at the orchard. So, I’m on my own for a couple nights,” he says.

  “Won’t Doreen and Ria feed you?” I ask.

  “They will indeed, but I figured I’d spread the love around.”

  I take a seat next to him on the porch.

  Dallas appears in the doorway, carrying Faith. “One of you want to hold her while I cut the vegetables?”

  Walker jumps up. “Hand her over.”

  “She’s teething, and she’s fussy today,” she warns him.

  “Ah, Guncle Walker can handle it.”

  “What the hell is a guncle?” I ask.

  “Only the coolest man in her life. Her good-time uncle,” Walker coos as Dallas hands her over.

  Faith starts giggling as soon as Walker is holding her.

  “See, the ladies love me. All shapes, sizes, and ages.”

  Dallas rolls her eyes and walks back inside.

  Walker sits in the chair beside me.

  “Hey there, ladybug. What you got here?” he asks the baby as he lifts her shirt to expose her round belly.

  Faith’s eyes watch him intently as he raises her in the air and blows a raspberry on her tummy. Her legs start kicking, and she throws her head back and squeals.